When Fair Crosses Foul
by Memory in Crimson
Summary: A great Elf warrior strays from his company into a strange woodland that slowly drains him of his power. A band of Uruk-hai captures him but are quickly defeated. Now the Elf must either cast aside an ancient hatred or risk alienating the one saviour who can lead him out of the perilous woods.
1. Capture and Rescue

**Latest Revision:** 27 Jan. 2012.

**Content warning:** Mature situations, mature language.

This fanfiction was inspired by "One Dark Night" by Enros and "Morihonda Melindo" by Spooks, and is dedicated to Enros, Spooks, and all the other admirers of Elves, Orcs, and Uruk-hai.

* * *

**Chapter I—Capture and Rescue**

The War of the Ring had finally ended. The Dark Lord Sauron had failed in his attempt to reclaim his precious One Ring, and because he had bound himself to that tiny gold ring, his spirit had departed from the world forever. However, remnants of Sauron still roamed Middle-earth. Though diminished, many Orc tribes lingered on the battle-scarred Middle-earth: ambushing, robbing, and murdering, leaderless but still very much a force with which to be reckoned.

By great fortune and with much generosity, the Elves who had not yet departed for the Undying Lands took upon themselves the task to help rid Middle-earth of the last foul creatures that they could. Although the coming age belonged to Men, this did not sever the long-held hatred between Elves and Orcs.

For days, Elven hunters inspected every spot of the dark forests, towering mountains, and vast plains for any sign of the perilous horde. They slew their quarry without pity—no Orc ever begged for mercy, anyway.

The Elves rarely, if ever, hunted Orcs as individuals. Orcs feared Elves but hated them enough to not always flee, and woe to the hunter who underestimated the beasts. Hunters remained closely together, knowing well that anyone who strayed would be at the mercy of the base and ruthless Orcs.

Unfortunately, during one company's journey, one of the more experienced Elves had strayed far from his fellows. Though he was a renowned warrior, he had wandered into a forest that few had ever treaded. His company had marched deeply into an uncharted region, supposedly un-travelled for decades, even during the War. Therefore, despite his many years of experience, a strange magic befell him, and the splendour, serenity, and sanctity that were once one with him dimmed in those strange woods.

The Elf wondered what had befallen him. Had he failed to follow the divine Laws? He had cursed no brothers, Men, or other free beings but had prayed for peace, an ultimate peace brought by Eru Ilúvatar. Wandering from his company was not an egregious sin, though quite dangerous. Perhaps, he thought, the more likely explanation was that his power was beginning to fade with the One Ring destroyed and the dominion of Elves fading. Yes, that had to have been part of the reason, but only a _part_. Some stranger magic was at work, yet he knew not what it was.

The Elf could not wait and debate with himself over the reasons behind the strange work. If he were ambushed, he knew not what to expect.

So he trod through the forest; at first retracing his steps, only to find that they had vanished; rather, someone had concealed the trail—wiping it out and covering it with foliage. His heart skipped with growing anxiety.

The Elven warrior continued to weave deeper through the woodland maze, where less and less light penetrated. Soon he began to despair, for he might spend the rest of his days, ambling about for an exit. Furthermore, his keen senses warned him that he was not alone. A lurking something had its eyes on him, but it waited to strike. It watched his movements, sizing him up and down for the slightest weakness. The Elf frowned, and his brows furrowed with frustration.

_I am a Child of Ilúvatar,_ he thought. _I am First-Born, an Elf of noble stature—fair and just. Darkness fears me, but I need not fear Darkness, for my faith in the One is strong. I_ _am __Light, bright and burning as the stars, and I shall escape this place. I__ shall __escape and sail into the West and finally find peace, but not before completing my appointed task._

The Elf sighed and nodded. These self-made words were all the comfort he could muster, while he sallied forth through the forest.

All the while, creatures left behind by their deposed Dark Lord lurked stealthily, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust. They had followed the Elf ever since they had sniffed the pretty, little warrior, nosing about in their part of the woods. They did not exactly own the land, true, and had no plans to make it their home. Still, they little cared for this intruder and were eager enough to engage in a bit of good sport.

A lad just needed to be careful not to get stuck with those Elven pins. Elf blades and arrows were nasty business. Great warriors such as they still needed to take precautions. They could wait, but only just a bit longer—just a bit.

Soon that ghostly sensation became impossible to dismiss, and the Elf stopped. He smelled the foul odour of his stalkers (for by that time, he was certain that more than one followed him). Slowly rounding, he caught sight of two ghastly, petulant-green eyes, staring at him from the bushes. The malignancy in the stare caused the Elf to nock an arrow for firing.

Eyes widening, the stalker prepared to flee, but instead he howled when the arrow was buried in his flesh. That agonised howl caused the warrior to shudder as he cried, _"Orch!"_

The warrior was surprised by the fact that they had made no earlier attempt to attack him. However, at that moment, they finally seemed provoked for blood: howling and leaping from the darkness, surrounding him. The wounded Orc, great and Man-like of stature, barrelled into him first, striking him down with one blow, giving the others the opportunity to punch and claw viciously at him.

The Elf retaliated; he blocked their meaty fists and claws with his bow and returned swipes and punches. One Orc pulled at his hair, while another wrenched the bow from his fair hands. Kicking and shouting, the Elf reached for and unsheathed his knives and lashed at the Orkish brigands. Another One howled in pain as the Elf managed to sink the blade into his flesh. The pack eased off, growling and glowering at him, infuriated and cursing.

"_Golug _scum!" growled one.

"Trickster!" cried another.

"Murderer!" shouted a third.

The one wounded by the arrow stepped forward and hissed. "Well, my pretty, little _Golug_, looks like you're no cheap shot. Got the leader, you did," he said, claw upon his wounded shoulder. "But your luck's run out, sunshine hair. We'll make certain you never make it out o' this forest. When we're finished, you'll be naught but bones for the Wargs t' gnaw on."

"Do not boast, beast," spat the Elf. "I shall kill you if you refuse to set me free."

The leader chuckled darkly and snarled, "We'll see, sunshine hair. I bloody doubt you'll hit someone a second time.

"But 'ere, lads! Too bad he's got a nice sense of humour, eh?"

The Great Orcs chuckled before the leader continued. "But if I'd let you off, the boys 'ere would think old Kargburz has gone soft. Nar, we gonna use you, yeah, use you real nice and slow and _painfully_. You'll be lookin' like us before we're finished mutilating that pretty face."

"Never!" cried the Elf, but the leader shot him a nasty grin.

"Take 'im down, lads!" And upon that order, the other Great Orcs seized the warrior, using pure brute muscle to wrestle him to the ground. The Elf struggled against their force, uttering no cry, for it would have suited their dark pleasure. However, he was purely astounded. How could this befall him of all Elves? What dark magic indeed had rendered him so helpless? Their weight and their foul stench finally overwhelmed the Elf, and his knees reluctantly touched the ground. The leader took that moment for punch him viciously, and finally he fell limp. The Great Orcs howled triumphantly and marched back to their camp.

* * *

Once they arrived, the Elf gained enough consciousness to find himself lifted high and slammed unceremoniously on the ground. The Great Orcs stood slavering over his beautiful face, grunting in their base language. Suddenly, three more joined in gawking and snarling and pawing obscenely at him. The Elf kicked and punched back but was bitten many times for his insubordination.

Soon, the leader scattered the group, striking the Elf hard on his face. He ordered that his hands be bound tightly to ensure that the knots were infallible to Elf trickery.

"Yeh, he's a pretty one," the Elf heard from one of the Great Orcs. "I bet we're gonna mess him up right, we will!"

The leader growled at the warrior. "You listen to me, lad. I was the one what found 'im, and you've got the balls t'say you're gonna have the first round with 'im? I'm the leader here, shit-wits, and he's _mine_to muss up first. You gotta problem? I'll knock ya fuckin' 'ead off!"

The other bellowed and engaged the leader in a long argument, waged in their foul tongue, neither prepared to capitulate. The other Great Orcs joined the squabble, and the Elf assumed that he could try to escape. However, two of the blackguards had fallen back and watched him closely. They did not trust the scent of this warrior. Their leader might have felt cosy, snatching a great Elf warrior from the forest, but there was something eerie about him, and if he made for an escape, they were going to make sure he was put to the knife.

Soon the two began to speak with one another. No sir, they did not like this Elf at all—and Orcs already did not trust Elves as it was. He might go about putting some curse on them, or what if he escaped? Damned savage might cut their throats, given the moment, and eat their flesh. Put him to the knife, they thought together, and loomed over him.

The warrior spotted the two sneaking toward him. If he cried out, the leader would deal with these two easily, and so, the Elf cried out. As if on cue, he caught the leader's attention immediately. The infuriated beast drew his long sword and cleaved at the two Great Orcs. One hurried and lost only part of an ear, but the second received a deep wound to the side and a blow that nearly severed his arm. Falling backwards, he watched as his companions swarmed over him. He released a spine-chilling howl before the only sounds were grunting, growling, and foot falls.

The leader picked up the Elf savagely by his hair, shard-like nails scraping his delicate scalp. The Elf groaned and gritted his teeth. The Great Orc growled in his face, foul breath assaulting his nostrils.

"It's been decided, _Golug_ scum," it growled. "You're all mine to take, holier-than-art-thou Elf."

"No!" cried the Elf. "You shall not torment me!"

The Great Orc growled and smacked him hard across the face, tearing red rivulets onto that pale face. The Elf hissed bitterly at the pain. He growled at the Great Orc viciously, staring defiantly back at him, eliciting an abhorred, yellow-toothed grin.

"So you _do _'ave one of us in your soul!" chuckled the Great Orc evilly. "Let's see if we can make it for all eyes t'see!"

The horrified Elf began to thrash in that tight grip. The leader dragged him across the ground, knelt and straddled him, leaning closely and poisoning him with that nasty breath again. He licked that fair face lewdly and began clawing at his tunic. Then he pawed at the trousers and undergarments until his wild eyes saw the flesh that he desired.

"Release me!" howled the Elf. "I do not want this! I do not deserve this!"

The leader ignored his pleas. He had every intention of violating this wretched, little fair-skinned bastard, among other worse things planned, but he suddenly stopped. The Uruk's head whipped up.

"Damn animals," growled the leader, and he stood and drew a threatening knife. Just as he settled on the Elf again, a peace-shattering cry pierced the darkness. Shouts, growls, curses, and howls followed, and only two warriors rushed back to their leader, describing that their other comrades had been swiftly slaughtered.

"We know not how," said one, "but they fell instantly—"

"As if by means of th'arrow," interjected the second.

"Or _magic_..." hissed the first in a whisper.

The lead Great Orc sat incredulous of their account. He growled, "Fools! 'Fraid of yer own shadows, you'd be, 'f ya weren't with me. Our clan came outta Isengard. We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We brave death and receive it with honour. No lads'll be taking our property. So sniff 'em out, you bastards! Or are you a couple of snivelling, wretched Snaga?"

Snarling at the allegation of cowardice, the pair trampled off, swords in hand, to find what had killed their clansmen so quickly.

"Whether it's a friend or some covetous fuck," the leader growled, "he'll not have you. We'll be dead before he has you."

The Elf did not speak, only glaring at the Great Orc. He would surely perish from despair alone. Then suddenly, he heard someone breathing heavily behind the Great Orc.

"Violatin' prisoners there?" snarled the voice. "Can't tolerate it, even if it is a bloody _Golug_."

The Great Orc leader clutched the hilt of his sword tightly. He rounded suddenly, but the newcomer dodged him and instantly slashed his throat with a sharp dagger. The leader gagged and gurgled and fell backwards next to the Elf, who flinched at the sight of the corpse and that gushing, black blood. He began to feel faint, and then he heard a soft voice speak in a rough tongue:

_"Lat nardamûrz. Norgash lat krâtmarrub. Narmudhnlat."_

The Elf glanced wearily at the shadow, which loomed over him. He saw no face, for the figure had covered all but his eyes with a heavy wrap. Then the figure paused and shook its head. It tried to speak in Sindarin: _"Edhel, le mabon an 'wain hen."_

_What person is this?_ wondered the Elf. _And why does he rescue me?_

The being knelt beside the Elf and quickly pulled some things from the small pack beneath its cloak: a rag and what looked like a vial. He opened the vial and poured a pungent unguent, devised from strong and foreign herbs, into the rag. Then the being placed it over the Elf's mouth and nose. The warrior protested, but the being was well-versed in the art the plants and their purposes, and as the Elf struggled beneath him, he saw that his potion worked swiftly.

The Elf's eyes fluttered and his eyes rolled with weariness. Finally, the warrior succumbed, but how long he would remain unconscious, the being did not know for certain.

Swiftly he slung the Elf over his shoulders and marched with great speed from the camp site. He would return to destroy the bodies later, but for now, his charge was his only concern.

* * *

**Glossary:** _Orch!_ (Sindarin) Orc!

_Golug_ (Black Speech) Elf (derogatory).

_Kargburz_ (Bl. Sp.) black fang. An original Uruk character.

"_Lat nardamûrz. Norgash lat krâtmarrub. Narmudhnlat." _(Orkish dialect) You're safe. Norgash will take you away. Don't worry.

_"__Edhel, le mabon an 'wain hen"_ (Sind.) Elf, I take you elsewhere.

**Footnotes: **Recently revised in January 2012.

This is the 4th revised edition of the fanfiction, formerly called _Foul Dips into Fair_. Upon researching Tolkien's legendarium, I have sought to repair gaps and inconsistencies that existed in the original tale.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. However, original characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


	2. A Perplexing Saviour

**Chapter II—A Perplexing Saviour**

As he slowly awoke from the chill of unconsciousness, the Elf heard a fire crackle and slowly felt heat seep into his body.

The Elf glanced at the fire and then looked up. Darkness pervaded around him, and he saw not the slightest twinkling evidence of the stars. He probably lay in that dreaded forest still, alive but in need of great assistance. He body continued to feel the heavy air from before, the air which suppressed his power. The Elf groaned despairingly.

_A Elbereth_, he prayed, _I beg for forgiveness for whatever crimes I have committed. Make me clean of evil, fair Lady of the stars. Let me be free from malicious thoughts and evil works. Tell me, what must I do to return to the path of Light?_

In that lonely forest, he received no sign and felt greater sorrow. The Elf carefully rose to sit, shoving away a thick, tattered blanket from his neck and chest. Where precisely was he, and what had befallen those Uruk creatures? For this fire was not theirs. Indeed, they had been slain.

_They _are_ dead,_he realised, and then, he glanced about all his sides. What could have been capable of slaying a band of ravening Great Orcs, when a warrior of his years could not? Had a ranger come and rescued him? For that being had spoken Elvish, but what of that other tongue? It sounded as rough as the tongue of Dwarves, but though his experience with that race was little, the Elf doubted that the tongue and the being were Dwarfish in origin.

While he sat and wondered, a voice suddenly rumbled from the other side of the fire.

"Here now, what's this?" The person paused. "Ah! Good show, good show. The little _zanbaur_ finally decides to wake. Good, good. This lad still knows how to mix his potions right, I tell you. I feared that it might have been a little too potent a mixture, even for you, Elf. You'd be sleeping forever and all my efforts go to _tharn_."

The Elf cocked his head. "Who are you, sir, and why have you saved me? I would thank you generously if I had the means, but I have lost my supplies, my companions, and my way."

"No kidding," the person said. "Strutting around the forest like a cock without its head! I'm amazed you Elves manage to live so long, walking at unawares."

Though not necessarily offensive, the comment stung the Elf warrior. Was it truly his fault that he had strayed? Surely Orc-hunting was not without risk, but had he made himself so obvious?

Desiring to steer away from dark thoughts and self-deprecation, the Elf said, "I am sorry if my people seem arrogant to you, stranger, but would you answer me this: you have spoken the tongue of Elves, and with that, I suspect you hate us little. But you have also spoken a rougher tongue with which I am not familiar. Do you care to reveal yourself, stranger? I should much care to speak more with you."

The person rumbled, and then he replied, "I don't know, Elf. You might not like my face—isn't exactly what you consider pretty."

The Elf smiled. "Appearance is not always telling enough. I have known Men of wild looks but hearts of gold. Likewise, I have seen and experienced cruelty at the hands of other Elves, for despite what others consider our fair looks, we too are marred and can be, unfortunately, hateful."

The being snorted. "I doubt anyone could be more hateful than my lads. We're naught but a host of trouble most of the time, runnin' around like great rats, spreading the plague of chaos wherever we go. How could you find _anything_ good about my people?"

The Elf frowned. He tried to peer round the fire, but the being scooted out of sight. Then the warrior said, "You are good. You have saved me and slain those who would torment me and murder me. As a whole, all Peoples are flawed, but as individuals, we can rise and become exceptional beings, beings who remind the world that redemption, even when it is distant, is not impossible to attain."

More rumbling arose as the being contemplated the Elf's words. Suddenly, comfort and hope began to seep back into the warrior's spirit. Here before him was a man who had fought his darker nature. Perhaps he was a repentant Dunlending or rebel Easterling, thought the Elf.

"Please, kind sir," said the Elf, "I would be most pleased to see your face. I cannot properly thank you without some idea of with whom I speak."

That air of hesitation lingered. Surely, he would see him one way or another, unless he masked his face with a rag or clothe. Finally, with a heavy sigh, the being capitulated.

"All right, ya little _zanbaur_," he said, "I'll show you who saved you. But mind out, you promise not to run or fight or what-have-you. I've taken your weapons, anyway, so you won't be worrying me none."

The Elf promised and adjusted his body. Then the being grumbled and began to rise to his full height.

The Elf's face instantly chilled as the blood cascaded down his neck. Towering on the other side of the fire was a Great Orc.

His weather-beaten cloak concealed all but his leather boots and his ruined face. He had dark, mottled skin, prominent cheek bones, an ape-like nose, and a high forehead. His black hair was loose, coarse, and long, extending beyond his shoulders, and his ears were longer and far more intricate than Elf ears—all the better to hear prey, thought the Elf.

Of all the misfortunes! He had prayed vainly, he realised, for this was no saviour. This was his doom.

"Be at ease, little _zanbaur_," said the Great Orc. "I'm nothing like the other Uruk-hai; at least, not much. I'm good to the lad that's good to me, and I'm much gentler fellow, if you choose to believe that."

With a severe gasp, the Elf managed to reclaim his breath. He rubbed his hand over his heart, eyes averted from the Uruk. Shaking his head, the Elf said, "I can barely believe aught now."

"Then you are wise."

Turning his attention back to the Uruk, the Elf asked, "What… what reasons do I have to trust you, creature?"

The Uruk grinned, a less than pleasant sight to the Elf—or anyone. "You don't, but I do. I rescued you from a band of my own folk, when I could have very well kept my nose to myself. I killed the lot of them and whisked you off. For two nights and two days, you've been in and out of sleep. I've had many an opportunity to slice you open, but rather, I've tended to you. I'd assumed that I'd be caring for you a third night, but praise be to your shiny Elbereth, you finally woke."

In an instant, the Elf bristled. "Never utter the name of Elbereth Gilthoniel, vain beast. Do not think of Her glorious name or any other that She bears, for they will be the last words you utter and stain."

The Uruk snarled, but the Elf continued to stare defiantly into his eyes. Orcs already spoke many foul tongues and debased the less-than-fair Westron further with curses and other crude language. If the Elf should die for defending the speech of the Elves and the name of their glorious Lady, may it be.

However, instead of striking him, the Uruk sighed and marked, "No wonder they chose you, Elf. You're as rude as any Orc... just don't look the part yet."

"Why do your people persist in associating me with your foul race?" growled the Elf, his lividness climbing to its limit.

"Because... well, listen to yourself! Since you done saw my face, you've been giving me a hard time. Now that's justifiable and all, considering that our Peoples haven't always gotten off loving each other and such. But I _did_ save your arse, quite literally, so you had better show me some respect 'cause I'm fighting real hard with my instincts. I can dump you in this Elbereth-forsaken forest any time I wish, and mark my words, z_anbaur_, there are nastier things than Orcs in this neck of the woods."

And when the Elf believed that the Uruk had finished, the creature snapped, "And don't _you_ dare lecture me on using _Her _precious name. I do as I please, ya rotten prick."

Eyebrows knitting together, mouth sinking into a deep frown, the Elf realised that the Uruk spoke the truth. For reasons that he (and perhaps even the Uruk itself) did not know, this nearly impossible ally had rescued him and slain his captors. Perhaps it had a long-standing rivalry with that band, he thought. For Orcs quibbled over the minutest things. Sport was far from minute to them, and tormenting Elves satiated their darkest desires.

A long period of silence passed as the warrior dwelled on his quandary. He had sworn to this creature that he would not flee, but why did he not? The creature could not hold him to his promise beyond the use of fear, but he had no knowledge of this forest, and indeed, he was his sole guide. With great reluctance, he needed to bear this burden, trusting the Uruk to protect him, lead him out, and not spoil him.

All while the Great Orc remained on his side of the fire, nibbling on some bread and drinking his draught carefully. He eyed the Elf as he sat in deep contemplation. The Uruk smirked. Ah, he was a lovely one indeed, the handsomest one he had ever laid eyes upon. No one wonder those lads thought he would make good sport; looked as fresh as the first day of summer, and, minus their little squabble, polite as could be. Lucky for the Elf, he really had mellowed out with the years; otherwise, he would have taken him all to himself.

Then the most unexpected phrase slipped from the Elf's mouth: "I apologise."

Granted, he spoke in Sindarin. He forgot that the Uruk knew a lick or two of Sindarin, but ah!

"I accept," said the Uruk to the Elf's surprise; also in Sindarin.

The Elf's head jolted up with that reply. The Uruk understood him? Was he indeed the one who had spoken Sindarin? There was no other in his company. Of all the unanticipated things, an Orc understood and spoke the language of the Elves.

Again the Elf gazed upon the Uruk. For the being that he was, his appearance did not instil terror. He seemed—could it be?—serene for his kind. His eyes, which shown jade green even in the fire light, assured the Elf that he was calm, well-meaning, and (at that moment) non-violent.

Suddenly the Uruk growled, "Why do you stare, Elf? See somethin' wrong? Or ya just don't like my face?"

"To the contrary," said the warrior. "I am merely… curious."

The Uruk heaved a 'humph' and then grinned.

"You know, lad, most of my people might have taken a lock of stare like that as a challenge. If I hadn't known better, you being curious, I'd have killed you... Hmm...

"By the way, we might as well get to know one another's names, eh? It'll be a while before we part ways. My mum called me Norgash; means 'lynx' in Isengard Orkish. Heh, she thought the way I prowled about that she'd slept with one. Having that said, I am a proud Isengarder and a former servant of the late wizard Saruman. And who might you be, if that's in your will to tell me?"

"I?" The Elf pointed a finger at his heart. The Uruk nodded his head, but for a moment, he did not reply. Could he bear the shame of letting this Uruk know who he was? Would he even believe him?

"I fear that at this moment, I have not the will to tell," he said. "You would call me either a fool or a liar but in either case laugh heartily at me. Since it is only fit that we exchange names, I shall devise one for this occasion."

With a rough and hearty laugh, the Uruk replied, "Very well, lad, what shall I call you?"

"You may call me… Sigilithil."

"Sigilithil?" the Uruk repeated. " 'tis a right tongue-twister, if I ever spoke one. But that is a pretty name for an even prettier Elf… Sigilithil… Yah, a right pretty name for a right pretty possession."

"What mean you by 'possession'?" he asked as he cocked his head.

With a rumble of amusement, Norgash said, "Now, now, you won't tell me your real name—not now, at least. Maybe not ever, at most. This is the name you've given to me, and what you give becomes that person's property, right? Which makes you my lovely piece of property, eh? If that makes sense, anyway."

Sigilithil, as he shall be called until this tale ends, merely shook his head. Though he certainly—and quite fortunately—lacked the malice of other Orcs, this Norgash still amused himself by administering smart jabs. However, if there was one kind of sport the Elf did not mind being, he was a good sport about the humour of others.

With a sigh, Sigilithil reclined back onto his make-shift cot, hands behind his head.

"You nappin' again, Elf?" said Norgash. "Here, I've something good for you."

Sigilithil gave no immediate response. He listened as Norgash's footfalls approached him. The warrior darted up as the Uruk kneeled and held out some kind of flask.

"Drink," he said. "It'll renew your strength."

The warrior raised an eyebrow. If memory served him well—and it did—the Uruk had administered some sort of concoction to make him sleep, when he rescued him from the other Uruk-hai. He seemed trustworthy, but what if he were deceiving him and this were some poison?

"Nothin' to worry about, Sigilithil. Here, I'll show you."

Sigilithil watched as Norgash drank steadily from the flask. Then the Uruk licked his liquor-stained lips and handed the pouch to the Elf, who cautiously drank.

"Oh!" he yelped as he returned the flask. "That is a hardy brew! It warms me from the inside instantly. I almost feel rejuvenated."

"Good!" laughed Norgash as he sat beside him. "You should because that's its job. It's supposed to help heal a body faster."

Indeed, to the Elf, his wounds seemed to vanish almost instantly. His face lost all soreness, and he felt renewed. Quite the miracle liquor, he thought, for Orkish fare, that is.

Since the pair seemed to be getting along well, the Elf decided to ask: "Norgash, how have you come to know Sindarin so well for an Orc?"

"Better question is 'why,'" said Norgash. "Saruman taught me how to read and write Sindarin. He even had me dabble in the language forbidden by King Greycloak."

"_Saruman_taught you? My impression is that he would have thought himself too superior to Orcs and too occupied to ever teach them aught first hand."

"So we all believed that. Yet as a brat, I was a bit brighter than most. I was an excellent warrior in my pack. And I guess my learning swiftly is because I'm an Uruk. I mean, that's why they call us the _Great_Orcs—we learn and remember: we dare to do such. And lacking this causes other races to fall because they don't change. Like Elves."

Sigilithil gazed wearily at Norgash. "You had me captivated, Norgash, until that rude remark."

One corner of Norgash's lips curled up to one side in amusement.

"Well, finally, I got to be somewhat of an outcast. My blessing became my burden, and my pack mates looked at me as too clever, even for an Orc. At first, the lads tormented me, but I could put up a nasty fight. Killed quite a few lads who looked at me wrong or said the wrong thing. Eventually, some of the boys ignored me altogether—which mind you, isn't very easy for Orcs to do. As much as we hate each other, we still love a good row. And then Saruman suddenly noticed me.

"Called me up to his tower. Offered to learn me a thing or two, and I did not refuse. Why should I have? I didn't have much else to go back to, except mingle with some of the leaders who actually liked my ideas. But they didn't have time to chit-chat with me. No one had time to chat with anyone. The War for the Ring broke out. When I wasn't trainin' for battle—or going out, beatin' the crap outta horse boys on the border—I went to refresh my memory of Sindarin...

"Pah! Stupid ol' Sharky... hardly had the time to help me, with Sauron breathin' down his hairy neck. Had to refresh me myself. And what other Orcs, in their foul minds, wanna practice Fair Speech? You tell me!"

"None as far I know."

Norgash snorted. "Of course!"

"But he had to have had more incentive in teaching you than your being unique," marked Sigilithil.

With that, the Uruk paused. He rumbled as he mulled over his words carefully, and finally he said, "You're all too right, my pretty Sigilithil. It didn't matter if it was comin' on a parchment or comin' out of live mouth. Sharky wanted information for the War. All I had to do was comprehend the message, even at the cost of the messenger's life."

A solemn silence foreboded over the tiny camp. Sigilithil did not dare ask, though the question tugged at his mind. Even this seemingly civil Orc had shed blood in the past. Stomach heavy with apprehension, the Elf eventually asked, "Norgash, have you killed Elves for information? Have you tormented them? I shall not lie, I have slain Orcs, but I shall not harm you if you speak the truth."

Norgash smirked. He sighed and stared wearily into the flames.

"Truly?" asked the grinning Uruk. "You aren't going to leap up and strangle me, eh?"

The warrior shook his head.

"Very well then. We don't have much choice when it comes to trust, eh?

"He was a lot like you. Didn't want to give his name either, so I called him Dimelda. Ah, he was a comely Elf: silver hair, skin with just the right touch of colour, and eyes—oh, yes, those eyes! Depending on the lighting, they were either a pure sky blue or pure rainy grey. But such a shame!"

Norgash's tone shifted from sombre to sinister. "Uruk-hai tore him up quite nasty, I'll say. I didn't have a hand in it, as much as a part of me wanted to." With that note, Sigilithil shivered, but Norgash continued: "I had my task: keep both ears on what he said, and write it all down later. A few times Dimelda spoke in Common Speech, but 'e mostly sobbed in Sindarin. And he always saw me, but he didn't know that I knew. Another advantage to teaching an Orc some Elvish: no one ever suspects. Thought I was just his appointed guard.

"Then came one night, when the boys hadn't beaten him senseless yet. Delirious lad started gloating to me in Quenya—shock to me, which means he must have been quite an old bloke. I still managed interpreting a good third of it. Usual Elf rant about the Light this and the Darkness falling that and what not. But then I replied in that same Forbidden Tongue: 'Fool Elf. You thought me the fool, but you thought wrongly.'

"Well, my Dimelda was absolutely horrified! His starlit eyes widened, and their light dimmed instantly. Then the boys came, and he cried out and begged me this time to save him. But as usual, I ignored him. And when they finished with dear Dimelda, I stood before that slumped figure, sword in hand. I tell you, he survived what kills most Elves instantly, and with him barely alive already, I wanted to put him out of his misery. And I did.

"Before his poor _fëa_ departed, he looked into my eyes. He looked so relieved and whispered, 'Thank you.' And when I pulled out my sword, his last breath sighed from his _hröa_, and he lay there like a poisoned rag doll."

Norgash paused and chuckled out of disbelief rather than black humour. He ran a claw through his coarse hair and continued:

"Yes, my Sigilithil, I killed him for the information: so that no others could get it. Even burned my notes. I just said he spoke in a dialect I didn't know. But I remember still my Dimelda's voice as if I heard it yesterday." And with a sigh, Norgash rose and returned to his side of the fire.

The Elf reclined, pulling the blanket up to his slender neck. He wondered if that story was at entirely true, if it had ever even happened. But true or false, either answer gave way that these Great Orcs were as wise as much as creative.

_How dangerous_, he thought.

* * *

**Glossary:** _Zanbaur_ (Bl. Sp.) Elf-son. Among Orcs, this is an insult.

_tharn_ (Bl. Sp.) waste; garbage. This term can also mean "fearful" as the one who coined _tharn_, Richard Adams, intended. In an Orc sense, fear makes a lad useless, that is, like a piece of waste. (e.g. "Them damned Snaga-hai have gone _tharn _on us.")

_Sigilithil_(Sind.) Dagger of the moon.

_Dimelda_ (Sind.) Sad Elf.

**Footnotes:** "Saruman taught me how to read and write Sindarin. He even had me dabble in the language forbidden by King Greycloak." (According to _The Silmarillion_, Thingol Singollo, King of the Sindari and a member of the Teleri, barred the use of Quenya and the presence of all but a few Noldor in his kingdom.)

horse boys (A derisive Orc reference to the Rohirrim.)

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. However, original characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


	3. Undesired Knowledge

**Chapter III—Undesired Knowledge**

Sigilithil knew not how many hours had passed. The canopies of the trees wove tightly together and blocked out the sun, the moon, and every star that could tell him the hour, the day, and even the time of year. He knew only that quite a while had passed since he and Norgash, the Uruk of strange (but certainly welcome) character, had become somewhat acquainted. The Elf had slipped into a meditative state, just barely out of slumber's reach, and finally, he had awoken with a dry throat and empty belly.

Surely, he could acquire food that would not upset his Elven sensibility. He merely needed to ask Norgash for help, not at all fearing rejection. The problem was that Norgash was absent.

_On my own again, fretfully_, he thought, stretching and then standing up carefully. Luckily, the fire was still roaring, and as the Elf looked around, he noticed that all the Uruk's possessions were present. The Elf cocked his head from side to side, scanning the forest for any sounds.

He heard the shifting and crunching of detritus material from behind him and toward his left. Sigilithil gazed into the dark and noticed a familiar shape.

"Norgash," he said, "where were you?"

The Uruk rumbled. "Taking my little Norgash for a walk, that's what. Can't be relieving myself near you, or else you'll take to sprinting out of here like some prudish Elf-maiden."

Sigilithil smiled one-sidedly. "I appreciate your courtesy."

Norgash grumbled and strode beside him, eyeing him closely. He growled, "What are you doing up, anyway, Sigilithil? Gotta take yours for a walk as well?"

"Your words, not mine, Norgash," replied the Elf. "That need shall come in due time. In the meanwhile, I am in need of some food and drink. How much can you spare?"

"Well, it's certainly worth taking a glance, isn't it?" replied the Uruk, and he plodded over to his rucksack and rummaged through it. He removed two flasks and a couple of boxes, plus something wrapped tightly in paper. He shook one of the flasks and handed it to Sigilithil, warning: "Now, mind you, I haven't got much. I'm short on my liquor. Just of tad of it will do your belly some good."

The Elf nodded and sipped carefully from the flask, wincing until the burning sensation passed. Then he handed it back to Norgash and kneeled beside him. The Uruk opened one of the boxes and handed the Elf what appeared to be a piece of crumbling bread.

"What call you this?" asked the Elf.

"Radak," said the Uruk. "Most Orcs aren't keen on bread-stuffs and the like, but Uruk-hai have a larger range of things we eat. I prefer mine with a bit more bite, so this batch might be a tad hot for your Elven sensibilities."

"We shall see," replied Sigilithil with a smirk, and he nibbled on one of the larger pieces before it, too, crumbled.

The bread tasted fresh, albeit spicy, and was not terribly offensive to the pallet. Sigilithil returned to his make-shift cot and finished the rest of his share, sitting quietly and gazing thoughtfully at the fire.

" 'ere, now," said Norgash, as he handed the Elf something flat like a piece of bark. "I don't suppose elves eat meat, now do they?"

"Most are not adverse," replied Sigilithil. "I would much prefer to eat that which I have caught, if you do not mind."

Norgash laughed. "'fraid you might accidentally eat a cousin or who-have-you, eh? That wasn't much more than some frisky buck I caught in the forest and dried a while back. Heh! 'Fraid he'll eat one of his own or what-not, pah!"

Hesitating, the Elf sniffed the dried meat and weighed it in his hands. He inspected it closely in the fire light, and then, he tore a sliver off and chewed.

It was naught more than dried and salted deer meat; a little hard on the teeth, but certainly not foul on the tongue.

"I must thank you, Norgash," said Sigilithil. "You have gone to great lengths and fought hard the ancient feud to save me and share your resources with me. I wish that I could repay you in kind, but I fear I know not what an Uruk would wish of me."

"Other than tyin' you up and playin' rough," stated Norgash without guilt. "Just you be glad I'm not young and horny any more, or else I'd be asking for the favour returned real quick."

Though he tried to feign a smile and chuckle, the Elf found it all too impossible at the moment. He blanched, chewing the dried deer meat even slower. He had all too quickly forgotten that this was indeed an Orc, a former servant of the enemy. This Norgash was very clever, a story-weaver for sure, and he was quite possibly instilling a false sense of friendship and security with the seasoned Elf warrior. He could well have been plotting any number of miserable devices against Sigilithil—

"Why'd you stop eating?"

Sigilithil awoke from his trance. He glanced up at the Uruk, who gazed at him with one hairless eyebrow raised.

"I was just tousslin' your hair," he said. "No need to get all serious-like."

Setting aside the final bit of his meal, the Elf looked back into the fire. How could he ask him without arousing his emotions? Would he be able to fend him off, or would the evil spell of this forest befall him again and render him powerless?

"Norgash… forgive me my discourtesy, but I am curious. When captives were in the hands of the Enemy, what means of torment did Orcs use?"

"Beg pardon?" growled Norgash.

"Allow me to be frank: do Orcs always violate their prisoners or only those in which they find the greatest fondness in violating so?"

The Uruk nearly choked on his food. Sigilithil glanced over at him, whose eyes had widened to the size of sickly pale green moons. Norgash rumbled and smacked his lips together, scratching his head.

"Ja kiddin', right?"

Sigilithil shook his head. Norgash rumbled and snarled.

"Fucking… Look, lads like to get their jollies off once in a great while, it's true. But most lads don't want to stick it into anything, whether it belongs to another lad or a lady."

"But what of those—"

"Them lads?" Norgash pointed toward the forest. "Pah! They're the exception to the rule, as Uruk-hai tend to be, but it's still mostly the same: Orcs are _not_ keen on shaggin'. Our masters forced us all to breed like damned cattle, so no one is consenting: not the lads and not the ladies. We've got the choice to breed or we get tortured."

"But then would it not be an appropriate punishment to deal to enemies?" asked the Elf.

Norgash chuckled in his terrifying Uruk manner, causing Sigilithil to shrink.

"Oh, certainly, lad, it's used but sparingly… Hear, now, do you know how many lads are superstitious?" asked Norgash. "Oh, sure, they've put a few women from the race of Men over the table and gotten rowdy, but most of them won't get their dicks anywhere near an Elf's privates. They think your ladies and some of your lads got monstrous teeth that'll bite off the first thing that pokes its head inside. Of course, Uruk-hai aren't that stupid."

Sigilithil cleared his throat. Norgash's information had quickly quenched his morbid curiosity, and he began to regret having asked.

"Now, to answer any more questions you got, since we're on the subject…"

Sigilithil blanched. What door had he just opened? Suddenly, Norgash sat beside him before he had any time to move. The Uruk cast off his cloak and leaned uncomfortably close to him.

"… I have had a bit of fun back in my younger days. Uruk-hai tend to be a frisky lot when they're young, and we don't discriminate between sexes, races, or even if it walks on two legs or four. I'm sure I've fathered pups of my own, though I've never seen 'em, but only with fine female stock, ya hear? I came from strong stock, and the females I had fun with were worthy lot, only the heartiest; what would swear to heaven, give you a nasty beating, and cut your throat in the middle of passion as their way of saying they were fond of you and only you."

"I… I…" _I am speechless_, he did not manage to say, although to his surprise and misfortune, this awkward conversation raised many questions in Sigilithil's mind. Out of all the uncountable years that he had lived, fighting against the orcs, he still knew very little about the creatures. His knowledge was base at best, meant only for combating them, hunting them, and slaying them. None had ever sought to make contact with them, for Orcs were a highly unsociable people, even with members of their own kind. As morbid and vulgar as this conversation would have been to many Free Peoples, the Elf warrior was intrigued (as he was nauseated) by Norgash's information.

"So what other facts can I disgust you with, my little Sigilithil?" asked Norgash. "Shall I regale you with my story of one lad I fancied—yes, I do fancy me a dick or two when I'm lonely! It was back when I was still living with my tribe, workin' up to be a high shaman, when—"

"Actually, Norgash, may I ask you…"

"What's that, lad?"

"Have you ever been with an Elf in an impure manner?"

The Uruk's mouth hung open as if in mid-sentence. The sole sound of the fire cracking wood was all that Sigilithil could use to measure the passing of time. Norgash immediately turned away and looked into the fire. He rumbled quietly, and as the moments passed without reply, Sigilithil grew increasingly uncomfortable, losing his trust in his would-be saviour.

Finally, after licking his teeth and lips anxiously, Norgash rumbled, "Define 'impure manner.'"

"Have you lain with… Hmm… Have you forced yourself upon an Elf, say Dimelda, for example?"

In an instant, Norgash turned and snarled, teeth bared like wolf ready to fight. Sigilithil jolted back and nearly leapt to his feet. Their eyes remained firmly locked on each other, even as they spoke:

"I never hurt Dimelda!" Norgash snarled. "You have no idea how badly I wanted to just fuck the little prisoner. You have no idea have much I wanted to rape and rend and tear apart with my teeth and claws, but I never laid more than a claw on his pretty flesh."

"Then why do you describe him in such vulgar terms?" demanded Sigilithil. "You describe him like a man with terrible fascination for girl, who has no idea of the predator gazing at her."

In a flash, Norgash towered before the Elf warrior and roared, "Do you have any idea what shit I woulda been in if I confessed that I _fancied_ an Elf? That my pet name for 'im was _melindo_? Do you know how fast Saruman himself woulda been dolin' out my punishment? And don't think he never had suspicions toward the end—oh no, indeed!"

Sigilithil's mouth dropped. How could that be? Not even a learned creature like Norgash had the capacity for love. An Orc will always be an Orc, and love is not known to them. Joy, compassion, a love of beauty, and love itself—the Free Peoples knew these qualities, and best of those who knew were the Elves.

_All that is evil did not begin so_, he remembered. Even Morgoth was good before lost control of himself, of his destructive pride. What of orcs? They were not evil creations, for evil cannot create but only ruin, only twist and distort. Norgash was the descendent of those distortions, distortions that refused to return to all that was good, who made no effort to return to what they once were. Some unexplainable element compelled Norgash to reach further back to his true ancestors, his Elven ancestors, but his battle was obviously one fraught with conflict—within and without.

"Norgash… Norgash!" Sigilithil cried. "Where are you going?"

The Uruk whipped around, a scimitar in one hand and a torch in the other. The Elf froze as he stood, gazing at that ferocious blade.

"Somewhere I ain't gonna do damage," he growled. "I'm all riled up now because of you."

"I?"

"Yes, _you_. Now, you had best sit your arse down and keep my damned fire going. The pile of faggots is by my pack, and you had better leave my things be! I'm buggering off, and I don't know when I'm coming back, so you stay put and not get any fucking ideas."

Then without another word exchanged, he turned and stomped into the darkness.

Sigilithil frowned, brow furrowing. _What a terrible mess into which I have fallen! My bearings have been turned upside down this terrible forest. Only that Great Orc seems to know the way out, and he can give no vow that I or even the Ain ur can trust._

The warrior slumped beside the fire, contemplating his next move. The peril in leaving on his own seemed too great, but he simply could not remain unarmed in this Uruk's company.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he spied glinting a few degrees round the fire. He walked over and saw wrapped in bundle, tucked indiscreetly under a log, the hilt of one of his weapons.

Sigilithil kneeled and unwrapped the rags, discovering both of his blades. Then he searched behind and discovered his bow and the last of his arrows, also wrapped tightly. The Elf glanced into the darkness and, seeing no sign of Norgash, took his blades with him.

_Forgive me, Elbererth_, he prayed, _if I should seem ungrateful, but I like neither this Uruk nor the changes of his mood. If the need should arise, then I must defend myself and find my way home alone._

* * *

That damned bloke—that damned Elf! And damn his own self, what the hell was he thinking? Gar, it was Isengard all over again. What the hell kind of interest was an interest in Elves, anyway? All the buggers did was sing and make poetry and revelry and fucking hunt Orcs for sport. That was all they did; why did he have to fancy them so much?

It was those visions, those damned visions from when he was a pup. His mum, high shaman that she was, had said, "You're meant for strange fate, Norgash. You're a strange lad, and not one Orc'll wanna touch you, much as they'll take a few swings atcha."

Even as he had trained to be a shaman, he had scoffed at her words, but when Saruman approached his tribe, seeking a worthy apprentice to whom to teach Sindarin and Quenya, every claw pointed at Norgash.

"But you remember, lad," his mum had warned, "you can't un-learn what's been taught. Learning opens up doors in this world and the next world, and don't be surprised if otherworldly things begin to take interest in you. Don't be surprised when you go from strange to being a stranger."

Norgash rumbled as he swung his scimitar at a tree. "Accurate bitch… Rrah!"

Norgash stomped and rumbled through the forest. He would need to turn round soon and get back to that damned Elf. Problem was, every time he turned, he couldn't see as much as twinkle, even with his torch.

"By the Fiery One's balls!" he profaned and swung the scimitar again. "Raugh!"

Suddenly, he heard a growl behind him. Norgash whipped round and held his torch high. He snarled and stood ready to make battle.

"Well, there you are, bloke," he growled. "I was wondering when you'd poke your ugly sniffer round again…"

* * *

Sigilithil whipped round when he heard crashing in the forest. He knew not the time that had passed since Norgash's disappearance. He drew his blades high and prepared himself for the worst. He stepped behind the fire and kept his eyes and ears sharp for peril. Suddenly, he saw the glowing of a light and heard a familiar voice.

"Oi, lad! What've you got in your hands?"

Sigilithil crept cautiously round the fire. Norgash had returned and with large comrade, no less.

The beast stood about as tall as a horse, and its eyes glowed as they reflected whatever light they could capture. Fight scars marred its narrow muzzle and face, and a part of wolfish ear was missing, cropped by an enemy, no doubt.

Sigilithil shuddered at the sight of the Warg, for the creature radiated an ill aura. The Warg snarled at the sight of Sigilithil, also wary, and needed to be coaxed out of attacking by Norgash.

"Now, now, Mauhúr, keep your fangs in," he said. "I saved this lad, and as big a headache as he's caused me, I don't need you mauling him and spoiling all of my work."

The beast cocked his head back in disgust and began to speak in some gnarled, unintelligible tongue; unintelligible to Sigilithil, that is. He understood him even less than when orcs spoke their base language.

"I know, I know, but you and he need to get along. We all need to. And we need your sniffer to help us get out of here, all right?"

The Warg spoke again. Norgash shook his head.

"Look, I never ask much of you. Now, I'm the one that saved your fluffy arse when the Ents besieged Isengard, when all the others scurried off and let your pack drown. Now is you gonna help us or just leave us 'ere?"

The Warg snarled and shook its whole body. It puffed up, gazing venomously at Sigilithil, who began to ease his stance. Obviously, the creature did not care to help an enemy that was so well-armed.

The Warg turned away and began to paw at the ground. He lay and growled to himself.

"Grousin', he is," said Norgash. "He isn't keen on helpin' an Elf, let alone one that's gone his shiny needles in hand, which by the way, I ask you give back to me for safe keeping."

"Forgive me," said Sigilithil, "but after our altercation, I feel much safer with my weapons close to my side."

Heaving an exhausted sigh, Norgash warned, "You either give 'em to me, or Mauhúr leaves you behind. These are his terms, not mine."

Sigilithil raised an eyebrow. He glanced at his weapons, then at Norgash whose hands rested akimbo. Up to this point, decisions had already been imposed upon him, and his choices had been run through a narrow strait. He had no problem engaging Norgash in hand-to-hand combat, but the Warg was another matter.

"Very well," the warrior conceded, handing them to Norgash. "My choices are few—"

"Now, don't get all dramatical on me," growled Norgash. "Here, I'll do you tit-for-tat." Then he strolled over to his rucksack and pulled out a thin book, whose green cover had begun to fade to sickly colour. The assemblage had loosened with age, but the pages, though wrinkled, were in good condition. Norgash handed the book delicately to Sigilithil and said, "You take care of this. I mean, _real_ good care of this. It means a lot to me, and if I lose it, I'll feed you to Mauhúr in a heartbeat."

"What it is?" asked Sigilithil.

"It's got some pretty powerful words, Elf. Oh, it i'n't any spell book, but it might as well be. From what I gather, it's a journal written by a bloke some many years ago. I found it in a warm, dry tunnel underneath some old ruins up north. Can't read most of it—never got that far in my lessons—but perhaps you can make out more than my share.

"Meanwhile, I've got to speak with ol' Mauhúr," Norgash noted. "He's been scoutin' around while I've been taking care of you, and we've got a lot of catching up and explaining to do."

Sigilithil nodded and returned to the fire. He tossed part of the bundle of faggots into the fire before settling down. He carefully cracked open the journal and gazed at the Tengwar, written in the Forbidden Tongue. With his age and his knowledge, he knew how to decipher Quenya with ease, but soon, he began to wish for the lack of Elvish skill that was Norgash's lot.

* * *

**Glossary:** _radak_ (Orkish) a plant from which flour is derived.

_melindo _(Sind.) lover.

**Footnotes: **Mauhúr (Named after cavalry captain of Isengard, killed on the way to assist the Uruk-hai who had captured Merry and Pippin. I have decided to retain Mauhúr's wolf-like appearance as opposed to describing him as a hyena-like beast from the Peter Jackson movies.)

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. Radak was coined by the author, Enros, in "One Dark Night." Derivative characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


	4. Heavy Hearts and Unspeakable Truths

**Chapter IV—Heavy Hearts and Unspeakable Truths**

The author of the journal was Elvish, undoubtedly Noldo, and a man. Sigilithil saw no dates and no names of persons or places. The author had been careful to be vague in his descriptions, as if he feared that his comrades would discover his true sentiments:

_My beginnings were neither humble nor haughty. The father and mother to whom I was born were fair of appearance, mind, and spirit. I have not known an arduous life, and as the sole heir to my parents, great comforts have been heaped upon my crown. One would expect that I be grateful, for I have climbed into high favour and am welcome at court. Friends call me serene, a surprisingly calm fellow, and fine company needed when the air is thick with tension._

_Not one understands who I am inside, my true workings. I should be happy but am constantly filled with woe and foreboding. Elves were made to last with the world, but I feel that my part of the world is fading fast. Evil stirs to southeast of our happy haven. Rumours regarding goblins and disorderly Men course through the city daily. Fear does not yet choke our singing or revelries, our market streets or production, our loving or friendly rivalries. However, fear has tempered our usually boisterous voices. I am more sullen than most and retreat to the privacy and sanctity—_false_ sanctity of my quarters. I cannot bear to rejoice for large or small things. I can no longer knowing the truth about the shadow that lurks near our happy corner of the world._

The entry ended with a quarter of the page left blank. Sigilithil pitied the poor fellow, but the author's woes were not abnormal to Elves. With the fairness, love, and compassion with which Elves were born, in a world marred by evil, even the heartiest of the Fair People could barely endure the many trials imposed by the world.

Sigilithil glanced at Norgash and his large, wolfish companion. They seemed deeply engaged in their conversation, and so, Sigilithil continued to read:

_My mind does not feel as it used to feel. I no longer recognise the path that I walk and cannot make sound decisions on my own. More and more I retreat from kin and kith. I can satisfy none, and the person I least satisfy is myself. I walk a crooked path, and I no longer trust who is 'right' or 'right.' I no longer trust myself._

_The danger to the southeast has grown bolder and bolder by the week. Men terrorise traders, and slowly, business has begun to dry. The king has ordered roads closed, and patrols track the movement of the goblins very closely—perhaps not close enough. We have all grown fat with contentment, and the enemy is dangerously clever. I have grave doubts about the ability of our warriors—if you could call them that—to fend off a full-fledged attack, let alone a small patrol of goblins and evil Men._

_I also have the biting inkling that they might find a way in. The history of the fallen city of Gondolin might very well repeat itself in our city. By means of betrayal or the pure ingenuity of the enemy, I do not know, but it is certain—they will find a way in. They are too determined now and gaining far too much confidence to retreat and we are fools to linger. We are fools to linger out of the strange hope that a stranger called Happy Chance might smile upon us._

_I refuse to smile back, but I do not flee. I fear the wilderness more than what I expect, and I expect the worst to come and soon._

"Oi, lad! Time to pack up and leave."

Sigilithil looked up at Norgash as he strode toward his rucksack and began to shuffle around his possessions. Sigilithil closed the book and handed it back to Norgash.

"Here's a bit of a rag," Norgash said as he handed it to Sigilithil. "I got a bit of oil left what I snuck from Isengard before it fell. We'll have enough to light four more torches, if we're conservative, but that's it. So we'd better get as far to lighter patches as possible."

Sigilithil nodded and began to help the Uruk clean up the camp. They took only one torch with them.

" 'ere, lad, take my cloak," said Norgash. "Your habits are still in tatters. It's no substitute for a shield, but it'll certainly hinder any arrow that comes your way."

"Thank you, Norgash," said Sigilithil as he donned the weather-beaten cloak. Then he held the make-shift torch and lit it with the last licks of the camp fire.

Norgash tossed the blankets onto Mauhúr's back, followed by the large rucksack. The Warg gave no protest and instead kept smelling the air and sniffing the ground.

"Which way, lad?" asked Norgash.

The Warg sniffed round the campsite and sniffed the air again. He sniffed the bushes and the trees, and finally, when he found the smell that he sought, he growled in his Warg Speech and cocked his head in a particular direction.

"Then that's where we go," said Norgash. "Come along, Sigilithil, and keep three strides behind Mauhúr. We don't want him worrying about you burning his tail, and if he sees something he doesn't like, we don't need you trippin' him up when he's leapin' for a throat."

"Understood, Norgash," replied Sigilithil, and the Elf and Uruk followed the Warg through the dark depths of the forbidding forest.

By instinct, not one spoke, growled, or snarled. The sole sounds were their footfalls upon the forest floor, the occasional, phlegmatic snort emitted by the Warg, and the torch as its flame licked away the darkness. Like the treacherous days of Mirkwood, strange creatures lurked in the woods, some fouler than Orcs and even less willing to talk: spiders, wolves, weasels, owls, wraiths, and indescribable beings. A troll or two had probably retreated in there when the War had ended, and Norgash had whispered to Sigilithil, "If I didn't know better, I thought I saw the flash of a vampire a while back. Prettiest thing with long red hair. Tall and pale as an Elf, but a sickly glow, not like your Fair People's starry glow."

"You continue to believe I am better unarmed?" Sigilithil queried.

"You got the torch, haven't ya? When the time comes, I'll toss you your little butter knives, but for the time being, we remain as we are."

The warrior conceded and said no more. He kept his eyes and ears wide open, and the Uruk kept his ears open as well. Uruk-hai did not see as well in the dark as the lesser Orcs did, but they certainly heard plenty better. Tense as the journey was, no ill befell them, and for a time unaccountable—but certainly long enough—they marched in relative silence before they reached reprieve.

The darkness in this portion of the woods did not encompass them as terrible as previously. Slivers of sunlight filtered through the loosely connected canopies, and the party reached a clearing where the sky could be seen. Gazing up through the patch in the canopy, Sigilithil knew from the light that the sun was setting. He sighed with relief.

_Finally, I may again see the stars_, he thought, for he so longed to see some vestige of comfort, of a world removed from ravaging Uruk-hai and perilous woods laced with enervating magic. He already saw the twinkling of the stars, and finally, hope returned to and lightened Sigilithil's heavy heart.

"We'll go ahead and set up camp here," said Norgash as he pulled the pack off of Mauhúr's back. "Don't get too cosy standing there, lad, I'm to set up the fire in the middle there."

"I ask for no forgiveness, Norgash," said Sigilithil, "and I do not forget that you know not the joy that comes from gazing at the stars. Too long have I gone without seeing them, though I never forgot them. I do not know if I have appreciated them as much as I do now, but I do. I love them dearly, so especially dearly now."

Norgash stood in the centre, gazing up at the sky as it slowly morphed from vermillion to violet. The Uruk harrumphed.

"Elves… I'll never understand ya," he said. "All my learning, and still, I don't understand you lads."

"You are forgiven," said Sigilithil.

"Pah! I ain't asking for forgiveness," said Norgash. "We need to get a camp fire started and fast before the last of that sun gives way to your sparkly, little fantasy. So hop to it, lad, these Uruk eyes weren't meant for the dark."

Sigilithil obeyed Norgash as the Uruk began to set up the fire. Once it was roaring, they set out the blankets nearly opposite to one another. Norgash handed Sigilithil the journal and said, "Keep yourself occupied while Mauhúr and I go on a little patrol."

"Patrol for what?"

"Food, lad. I haven't had fresh meat in a while, and Uruk-hai do not live on healing liquor and radak alone."

Then he grabbed his scimitar and another long blade and mounted the Warg. He marked, "Now, don't let your Elven particularities inhibit your sense of gratefulness. You eat what we catch or you're on your own."

"Very well, Norgash, but do not take too long."

" 'Take too long'? Gar!" the Uruk cursed. "It's hunting, Elf, how'm I supposed to make it quick?"

Sigilithil smiled and replied, "Forgive me, let me explain: to my surprise, I have grown fond of your company, unprecedented as our Peoples cooperating is. I should feel rather guilty if some ill befell you because of me, not that I already feel like a useless child, being attended to by a rather reluctant parent."

Norgash's eyes widened. He rumbled in surprise and grumbled unintelligibly. He cleared his throat and steered Mauhúr away.

"I'll… catch you a rabbit or some rot like that," said Norgash, and Mauhúr began to trot away.

"Little Moon-dagger—gives me a splinting headache every time he opens his bold, bloody mouth," Sigilithil heard the Uruk say. "_Zanbaur grazadhug, zaugizg azta, _the little motherfu…"

Sigilithil ignored his curses. He thumbed open the journal and resumed reading the entries:

_I continue to feel that my mind is slowly ripping in two. The complacent half, my stronger—or should I say, louder?—half continues to believe what my kin and kith tell me. "Be of good cheer," they say, "for though the days grow darker, though our times become wrought with trouble, it is but a trial. It shall pass for a clearer day."_

_My defiant half bemoans and warns me that the worst is yet to come. We cannot maintain this false optimism, it tells me. The people need to know, they need to prepare; they should flee as did Idril and Tuor from the fate of Gondolin. They refuse to listen. They would stubbornly remain and die, yet I have no way out. Alone I cannot survive in the wilderness, for I was not raised to survive in the worst expected scenario. All my allies and all our allies live too far, and the orcs have begun to block any roads of escape._

_Why, oh Ilúvatar, why could you allow this to happen? I beg, what have I done to offend? Why must I suffer? Why can none hear my case? Why blight me to be so unskilled, so helpless and—_

The writing stopped. Instead, ink angrily scratched the proceeding pages. Sigilithil deciphered them as angry curses and profanity, often repeated mindlessly. He began to puzzle over the true identity of the author and decided to look more closely at the entries in the fire light.

Sigilithil made no mistake about the fine make of the pages and the cover. It was indeed Elven made. Then he took a closer look at the ink and the strokes. He searched for any grammatical or spelling errors, finding only a few, which began to accumulate during entries of extreme anxiety. He began to read more rapidly through the entries, the author's despair increasing with every entry. The journal was not a hoax but indeed a disturbing glimpse into the mind of an Elf, who had grown increasingly agitated and desperate for help, which the author dreamed of but never came.

Sigilithil's head was swimming before he could finish the journal. He shook his head and put it aside, reclining on his cot.

Despite his long years, his many experiences and uncountable encounters, Sigilithil knew not how an Elf could descend to such an abnormal level of sorrow. The author clearly had suffered from some strange malady, though he had neither been as blind as the vengeful Fëanor and his sons, nor as treacherous as the black-hearted Maeglin. Nevertheless, a strange stain had besmirched the author's spirit, and Sigilithil prayed that all those black premonitions had not come to pass.

* * *

"What's this now? 'ey, lad!"

Sigilithil groaned. He had slipped into a light slumber and awoke to rough voice and a pair of familiar, jade green eyes.

"How in the world do you sleep with your eyes open like that, _zanbaur_?" asked Norgash. "You have any idea how creepsy that is? Lah!"

Sigilithil's eyes flickered and brightened. He yawned and stretched, sitting slouched as Norgash paced about the camp.

"What is the hour?" he asked.

"Star-struck hour, my little z_anbaur_. Your precious Lady has a nice blanket of indigo and diamonds with which to caress your eyes."

Sigilithil cocked his head and glanced up at the opening in the canopy. True to Norgash's words, the familiar host of stars glistened before his star-loving eyes. Sigilithil stood and walked close to the centre, blocking the light of the fire with his hands as best as he could. The Elf warrior smiled, and his heart sighed at the sight of the beloved night sky.

"It is a tender blanket, Norgash," said Sigilithil, almost laughing with joy, "that Elbereth has made for me. It is a tender blanket to all the Elves that can see. Forbid that I should ever go blind, for then the glorious sight shall no longer be mine."

Norgash rumbled. "Knows his poetry, he does… I don't suppose you'll be singing anything in Elvish whilst we dine, _melindo_? Not that I doubt you've a wonderful singing voice."

"As you wish, Norgash," said Sigilithil, and he sat beside the fire near the Uruk.

"Caught one rabbit, I did," said Norgash, "and already did most of the hard work, skinning and gutting it. You're welcome to cook yours, but I'm fine eatin' mine raw."

"And what of Mauhúr?"

The Uruk grumbled, "Lucky bastard… he caught himself a pig—a pig! In this neck of the world… Lucky son of a bitch."

Sigilithil turned round. The Warg had nestled itself a few strides from camp. It grunted as it picked at the pig-flesh carefully, eating the choicest parts of the body first. Sigilithil grimaced and turned back round as Norgash handed him a sharpened stick.

"My word," said Sigilithil, "you are a strange one for an Orc."

"Uruk," Norgash corrected him. "You call lesser Orcs 'Orc' and big, healthy lads like me 'Uruk.' Anyhow, don't think I'll be nursin' you for the rest of your life. I don't think poor old me will even live that long."

Sigilithil smirked. He pierced one of the rabbit's thighs onto the stick and began to roast it over the fire.

Dinner passed serenely. Norgash and Mauhúr took the remains and buried them far from camp. They returned and settled by the fire, near where Sigilithil lay gazing at the stars.

"You asleep again?"

"Mmm? No. No," Sigilithil replied with a slight chuckle. "I am gazing at the stars."

Norgash propped himself up. "You really enjoy lookin' up at those things, eh?"

Sigilithil chuckled, but the laugh did not sound normal to Norgash. He sounded joyful, make no mistake, but almost melodic, too. The Uruk rumbled to clear his throat.

"You all right, _zanbaur_?" asked Norgash. "You're starting to give me the chills."

Sigilithil stopped and sighed. He rolled over and crawled closer to Norgash, an almost unshakeable smile on his Elven face. He seemed to glow in an otherworldly manner, and the shaman in Norgash shrank upon beholding Sigilithil.

"It is strange," Sigilithil confessed. "Not since I have entered this strange forest have I felt myself. When I roamed with my original company, all was well. Then suddenly, before I had realised, I was lost and my splendour diminished. I had thought that I had offended a greater power, and I was immediately repentant. The band of Uruk-hai attacked me and with the queerest ease captured me. Yet you saved me, and here I am, feeling whole again. Here _we _are, the queerest company, yet somehow… oh, hoho! It is naught."

"What?" asked Norgash, cocking his head.

"As I lay gazing at the stars, an amusing observation occurred to me, and now that I speak of it, I would like your opinion, Norgash."

"Well, get on with it, lad. I'm not gonna be young forever, but you'll look stunning no matter how many centuries got you."

Sigilithil smiled at those words, but his smile immediately fell when he said, "I cannot shake the undeniable sensation that our meeting was preordained. You are not a typical of your race, and with that can I share mutual status. No Orc—or Uruk," he smoothly added, "no matter how restrained would ever, in any age, do for an Elf what you have done for me."

"So… what? You sayin' I'm special or something?"

"I do not know what your true purpose is, though I may assume many things and, despite years of wisdom, be terribly wrong. You are meant for a path strange to your kind, Norgash, though I cannot see it. I pray you live long enough to see the destination."

The Uruk growled softly and glanced wearily at the fire.

_You're meant for strange fate, Norgash. You're a strange lad…_

Norgash glanced over at his rucksack and then sat tall. "Where'd you put that journal, lad?"

Sigilithil rose and crawled over to grab the journal. He returned and handed it gently back to Norgash. The Uruk inspected it carefully, weighing it in his hands, eyeing the cover, and flipping through the pages. He hummed roughly and nodded.

"It's a truly interesting read, isn't it, my pretty little golden hair?" he queried.

Sigilithil frowned. His brow fell heavy with gravity, and he pulled back loose strands of hair from his face.

"The author is dead," he said. "This I know now. I remember tale of a kingdom in the north that I had never visited and few ever did. The road was too perilous, yet the citizens were rumoured to be a happy people. We never heard word from them for years at a time, and we know that they must have fallen."

Norgash nodded. "By chance, I took the road up there, and I tell you, I don't want to ever go back. Uruk-hai fear nothing, but that place could have chilled the armour off a Nazgûl. Nothin' but death and bad spirits; not even we black-blooded types—all the orcs and spiders and trolls and wolves—will go prodding about those ruins, not without a fine number of troops to follow along with."

"Yet you went," said Sigilithil. "You entered."

Norgash spat. "And 'bout lost my 'ead. I still get these… these damned dreams, these damned _visions_ in my head. I used to think it was just because I was a shaman. My mum warned me that once you poke around the spirit world, you can stop any time, but the spirits will always want to talk to you afterwards.

"But gar! These visions—they got worse when I got a hold of this bloody thing: Mormirion's journal."

"Mormirion?"

"My name for the poor bloke."

"What are your visions, Norgash?"

The Uruk scoffed. "Look, lad, you already think I'm a funny one. If I told you my most private thoughts, you'd call me bonkers, and I'd rebuke you. We'd get in a nasty tussle, and I'd have to slit your throat, gut you, and dry you for later consumption."

"By my honour, Norgash, I shall not mock you. Only the Enemy and unsympathetic Men mock the ideas, thoughts, and dreams of others. My nature prevents me from committing such cruelty."

Norgash continued to hesitate. His nature, he said. What of Norgash's nature? He was funny for an Uruk, there was no mistake about that, but he could not bare his damned soul to an Elf, of all people. Of course, it was not like there was anyone left to talk shit around him or behind his back, just Mauhúr, and he kept his big maw shut most of the time. What harm could there be in it?

_Even without his knives, I'm in deep shit if I say anything_, he thought. _The bloke was all timid and polite before, but something's changed. He just don't look right or feel right any more, like he's got a power that isn't his own but it is._

Norgash snarled and tousled his coarse mane with his claws.

"However, if it would drudge up too much pain—"

"No!"

Sigilithil was taken aback by the Uruk's cry. Norgash's eyes had widened wildly, and he looked like a terrified animal, ready to fight or flee.

"No…" he said, heaving a great a sigh. "I'll tell you, if it will so please you, lad. But you won't like a lick of it, no, sir. It's nightmare to any Elf who remembers where Orcs came from. And it's just as bleak as the curse Fëanor laid upon himself."

Sigilithil leaned closely and listened well to Norgash's tale of his life and visions.

* * *

**Glossary: **_Zanbaur grazadhug, zaugizg azta_ (Bl. Sp.) Rotten Elf-son, I oughta kill him…

_Mormirion_ (Quenya masc.) into the darkness.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. However, original characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


	5. A Sorrowful Tale

**Chapter V—A Sorrowful Tale**

When Norgash spoke, his entire voice changed. His tone became steadily solemn, and his speech was no longer punctured by colloquialism. Even the immediate air with which he breathed changed. It was as if a spirit had possessed him. After all, Norgash had mentioned that he had trained to become a shaman; therefore, his transformation made more sense to Sigilithil.

"Before I can tell you of my visions, Elf, I must first tell you a little more about myself. The tribe from which I hail consisted of powerful Uruk-hai, shamans with the power to curse a poor soul at a distance or cure with strong herbs and hearty placations to the spirits. I've told you that Saruman chose me because I was unique, for even among my bewitched kind, my spark differed tremendously.

"As the heat of the War intensified, I consulted with the spirits more and more but none answered me. I sought help from no mortals, for Uruk-hai must not display weakness so openly. But I read the signs in the polluted air, in the putrefied water, in the rancid soil: the time for Isengard was running out, and if I did not depart, I would be swept away because of my inability to heed.

"I had no time to warn my people. Many of them had already gone to their dooms at Helm's Deep. I sought no permission for Saruman, for he was too wrapped up in his muddy fantasies and wouldn't have listened to me anyway. But I could not leave alone, and so, I brought Mauhúr with me the day that the Ents besieged Isengard. He was the only Warg who listened to me, for he too is a strange one, though not as strange as I am.

"As we turned back, we saw the world wash away. We cursed the Ents, cursed the arrogant wizard, and turned away, as far away from anyone as we could."

"And all this time," began Sigilithil, "you have managed to run free without detection?"

"Ah, we were clever lads, but I could do dealings with people as long as I kept a cowl over my head. But I've kept to myself since that day. I know how to survive in the wild because I can change with the world. Uruk-hai are not like Elves. We can adapt; we can be surprisingly patient; and we observe our surroundings, our world, very, very closely."

"What about your visions? When did they begin?"

Norgash rumbled and fingered the tarnished cover of the journal. "Beginnings…

"Ever since I was a pup, I had a dream of walking through misty woodlands, a place clear and clean, like what elves might walk through. But I could never find my way out. I'd get scared—yes, an Uruk, frightened in his dreams by the unknown, the unseen. As I got older and beaten up and toughened, I experienced the dreams less and less. Then, after I had fled from Isengard, I wandered up north, too far north, and discovered that forbidding city.

"I shan't bore you of the details concerning exactly where I found it, nor the strange things that went on as long as I stayed there. But I shall tell you what I think, brother—yes, I said _brother_. For didn't you say yourself—didn't you imply that there are greater powers than ourselves, friend? Do you agree that there are?"

"Yes," replied Sigilithil as he puzzled over Norgash's words. "I have even come to know the Powers for myself, and they are terrible and magnificent all at once."

Norgash grinned his nasty Uruk grin. "You see, Mormirion did die—oh, yes, he did die. But he didn't stay dead and didn't hear the call to Mandos. He rejected it out-right and wandered the world, a cursed spirit cursing the world and the refusing to listen to Powers who did not hear his prayers."

Sigilithil gazed with hard eyes at Norgash. He anticipated the Uruk's coming remarks, yet the gravity of what they meant still stunned him.

"You cannot be one of the reborn," said Sigilithil. "It is a privilege, not a curse, and reserved under certain conditions."

Norgash scoffed and waved a finger. "Wrong, little Elf, or should I say _gwador_? Fëanor was not the only one who could utter foul curses that yielded tragic results."

"But how can you be certain?"

"Indeed, Elf, I do not know for certain," said Norgash, sighing. "But in my dreams nowadays, I am again wandering through the forest, but it isn't some non-descript realm any more. I recognise it as the woods belonging to that fallen city in the north. The mists there are the same as they are in the dream, and sorrow that I felt—that no Uruk can feel or should—is no stranger to me.

"In the dream, I'm wandering, lingering in the world. All my family, all the city has departed for other lands, leaving me alone and angry, just as angry as I was in my old life. I keep hearing voices, sweet but solemn voices, whispering to me, but it isn't my name. But I know it's meant for me, Elf, they keep saying: 'The Lord of Mandos calls for you, Mormirion of the fallen city. Come to the Halls of Mandos where awaits your fate.'

" 'I refuse,' I reply weakly and turn away from them.

" 'Come, come to the Halls of Mandos. Your fate awaits you.'"

"I refuse a second time and turn from this second group of voices.

" 'The Lord of Mandos commands you. Come to the Halls—'"

"And I've had enough. I cry out at them and curse at them. They've bedevilled me for so long. I can't take their echoing and their haranguing me any longer:

" 'Hear me, vain powers!' I cry. 'I curse your Mandos! I curse the Halls of Death! By Elbereth, I swear a thousand times upon the stars, I would sooner be condemned to the body of the Enemy than be dragged so closely to the Powers, who denied my people victory. _I swear it!_'"

Sigilithil gaped in terror as Norgash towered above him, changed completely from the Uruk he had grown to know. A darkness had consumed him and threatened to extinguish their fire. Even Mauhúr, who had previously been unengaged, dozing, had woken and stared wide-eyed at his master. Mauhúr did not like the sniff of things as they had turned, and he snarled dangerously at Norgash.

Then Sigilithil rose. He touched Norgash's shoulder, and the Uruk instantly awoke from his trance. The Elf bid him, "Be at ease, my friend. Your curse was fulfilled long ago, I see. It has already come to pass. Be still."

Elf and Uruk sat quietly and watched the fire slowly rise to its normal height. Mauhúr no longer bared his deadly fangs but instead calmed and curled behind his master. Norgash sighed and pat the beast on its head.

"You'd think I'd know what it means," said Norgash, "but I keep tellin' myself it's only a dream. It isn't what it seems. It could be the spirits playing tricks on me."

"You cannot truly reduce all your visions to pure fantasy," said Sigilithil. "I have not known you for more than a day or two passed, yet I see you walk on a preordained path. You are special, Norgash. You are cursed, but there is hope."

Norgash scoffed. "Hope… what hope is there? How do you even know that I was an Elf? How do you know that I haven't made up this little story?"

"I know, Norgash. I know well the arts of liars and deceivers, of those who mock and twist what is seen and what is unseen. You are an Uruk, and no amount of repenting can save you from that, but your final years need not be ill as your foul brothers. You have the inkling of good in your spirit, and no Orc or Uruk would have ever treated an Elf as you have treated me. You final fate may be much better, if you should choose the road of peace."

The Uruk heaved another heavy sigh. "Just… get some rest, _zanbaur_. I'll take the first shift."

"I have rested enough," replied Sigilithil. "I shall tend to the fire and the first watch. You need your rest more than I."

Norgash shook his head but did not protest. "Beat yourself. Mauhúr, get your beauty rest too, lad. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Mauhúr growled in agreement and nested a few strides from camp again. Norgash crawled beneath his blankets and laid his head on a pile of leaves. Sigilithil smiled. He took up the journal and tucked it away in the rucksack. He sipped from the flask, and then he began to fetch wood for the fire.

* * *

Sigilithil lay with his eyes on the stars again, dwelling on the tales that Norgash had told. He contemplated his arrival in these strange woods, of his power which had diminished, and its sudden return that night. He knew that greater powers than he had delivered him there into great danger and into the Uruk's company. He had realised his new task, but whether Norgash would cooperate or trust him enough had yet to be seen.

"_Rrrrraughrr,_ you've caused a fair share of trouble, _gaurug_."

The Elf rounded swiftly at the sound of soft growling. Standing behind him, eyes aglow in the fire light, was Mauhúr. He licked his teeth and lay slowly flat on his belly, like a cat about to pounce.

"You speak Common?" Sigilithil wondered.

"_Hhrrraugh_… When my people were young, _gaurug_," growled Mauhúr, "we knew all the tongues of the world, _rrraughrr_. Orcs, trolls, wolves, bats, Men, Dwarves, _Elves_… _hrraow_… but we have grown fewer, _gaurug_, and we have grown stupider. Many in my pack had become nothing more than stupid mounts for stupid orcs, _rrraowooo_…"

"I did not know that Wargs could speak any tongue beyond their harsh language," said Sigilithil, "though certainly you can understand the tongues of others. Does Norgash know?"

Mauhúr grinned and panted. He glanced at the slumbering Uruk and growled, "He knows I've a sharp mind, _rrraughrr_, but I speak only Warg to him, and he—he may speak whatever he pleases to me, _rrraughrr_…" Then he licked a forepaw and continued:

"You should not stay, _gaurug_, not with him, not for long, _hhrrraughrr_. When the Ring was destroyed, all the pretty Elf magic that was tied to it, _rrraowooo_, has come to diminish."

"Of this I am sorrowfully aware," said Sigilithil, "but it has come to pass."

Mauhúr nodded. "Yes, _rrraowooo_, but now, any Elven part that dwells in Norgash has begun to fade as well, _rrraughrr_. He shall not achieve the better life, the peace, that you pray for him. In time, he shall become another Elf-hating Uruk and completely forget all vestiges of his old life, _hhraughrrr_…"

Sigilithil glanced at Norgash. He was completely unaware of their conversation, wrapped his in deep slumber. Sigilithil could not imagine Norgash any way other than what he knew. Certainly, the Uruk had blood on his hands, and he still carried some of the darker inclinations of his kind. Nevertheless, Sigilithil had seen what few people rarely, if ever, saw. To see that vanish was an altogether horrible thought.

"I shall take him with me," said Sigilithil.

Mauhúr's ferocious fangs gleamed devilishly in the fire light as a deep, throaty laugh emanated out of those jaws. "You, _gaurug_? You shall cure an _oorach_ of being himself?" The Warg laughed again, and Sigilithil feared that Norgash would awaken.

"I can smell every century that's passed by you, Elf. I can smell every land that you've set foot on, even lands that no Man could dare tread. You should know far, far better than this, O Wise One. Where can you take him that others would accept him? _Rrraughrr_…"

"Mmm, what's this now?"

Sigilithil and Mauhúr quickly turned their heads towards Norgash. His eyes were heavy with weariness. He groaned, "What's with all the noise, lads? We got unwanted gruesomes or what?"

Neither replied immediately. They glanced at one another from the corners of their eyes. Then mustering his joviality, Sigilithil smiled and answered, "We were having a lively conversation about you, Norgash."

"Right," he scoffed, "and I'm the King of Mirkwood."

"You will forgive us for gossiping, I pray," said Sigilithil.

Norgash waved a dismissive hand. "Right, right. Well, just let me sleep 'til it's my shift, and we'll all get on keen as pie."

"Very well, Norgash. Rest well, friend."

Norgash groaned and pulled his blankets up and tight.

Sigilithil glanced gravely at Mauhúr. The Warg yawned, sat up, and shook himself. He truly did not seem to care how Sigilithil decided to be involved in Norgash's life. He had given his warning—a mere opinion in Sigilithil's mind, rather—and whether Mauhúr liked it or not (and he did not seem to care either way), Sigilithil would or would not heed his words.

However, their conversation had illuminated a rather pressing and disturbing point. Though Sauron had never touched the Elven rings of power, their fate had been linked to the One Ring. With its destruction, all that pertained to the Elves and their makings were doomed to fade.

Sorrow weighed down on Sigilithil's youthful brow. He gazed upon Norgash and felt his heart tighten.

_So it is_, he thought. _Mormirion shall fade forever into his curse, into his doom._

* * *

**Glossary:** _gwador_ (Sind.) brother (not by blood).

_gaurug_ (Wargish) Elf; related to the Orkish _Golug_ "Elf."

_oorach_ (Warg.) Uruk.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. However, original characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


	6. A New Day and a Parting

**Chapter VI—A New Day and a Parting**

Elves did not tire easily. They needed not to eat, drink, or sleep as often as other Peoples do, though they were not as hearty as some people tended to exaggerate. The longer-lived the Elf, the longer that he or she could endure.

Sigilithil had replenished his body and his spirit. His dinner had been humble but very welcome. He had the great fortune to finally see the stars, being wholly grateful and reverent to Elbereth but also to the mortal who had made the sight possible. Sigilithil felt at peace again with himself, but another person troubled him.

Throughout nearly all his slumber, Norgash had groaned and growled. He turned and twisted, battling with unseen foes. The Uruk had strode great strides in order to be accommodating to the Elf warrior. He had fought the very dark nature and upbringing that ordinarily commanded him to do as that band of Uruk-hai tried to do to Sigilithil: torture him. Murder him. Perhaps eat him. Norgash seemed eager for none of it, yet he longed to do _something_ to Sigilithil, some unspeakable thing.

_Perhaps Mauhúr is correct_, he wondered as he reached for the Uruk, recoiling suddenly before he touched his head. _If he had truly walked a previous life as an Elf, he is no Elf any longer. He is an Uruk, a Great Orc from Isengard. He cannot be un-made from this base and gruesome form. Not all the power of the Elves combined could heal him._

Then Sigilithil looked to the sky. He could see the crack of dawn rising in the east, and so, with his bearings set straight, he turned his eyes toward the West.

"What will You of me, Lords?" he prayed in Fair Speech. "Shall the Ban keep against one who once was fair? Will You let me bring one who needs to be healed? For I have seen many signs, oh, Lords, You have shown them to me. You have made me the door through which he must pass, but can You allow it? I beg You, can You allow this?"

Then he clasped his hands together and kneeled toward the West, reciting an ancient poem that though sorrowful, he had learned in younger and happier days. Nothing could interrupt him: not the wakeful snorts of the Uruk as he stretched and groan; not the cracking of the dying fire; not grunts of the Warg as it went about its business.

Norgash stood wearily and stretched. He glanced at the Elf and snorted.

"I'll never get them," he grumbled. Then he looked around for Mauhúr.

"Oi, lad! Mauhúr!" he cried at the Warg in the bushes. "Finish up with whatever you're doin', and let's pack up." Then he sniffed and glanced toward Sigilithil again.

Standing ready for instructions, Sigilithil looked at Norgash with a smile on his fair face. Norgash could tell his smile was not wholly made from joy, but he shrugged it off and said, "All right, lad. You're in charge of making another torch. We won't need it for long but just long enough."

"You know, Norgash," began Sigilithil, "I am not as young as I appear."

"What's that?" asked the Uruk.

"You refer to me as 'lad' constantly. I assume it means more than 'a young man.'"

"Gah! You should know that already," said Norgash as he folded all the blankets. "If it doesn't have _lady_-parts, then you call it a lad." Then he grumbled. "Tells me he's older; and I know that, but plays like he's some _kuru fiimurz_. Gar!"

"I have a name, you know," said Sigilithil. "You have not called me by that name since our fight. I have shown you the courtesy of calling by your name. Can you reciprocate?"

"Fine," growled Norgash. "_Moon-dagger_? Oh, _Moon-dagger_, darling, love of my life? Would you _please_ get the torch lit, my precious, little Moon-dagger?"

"If you shall not refer to me properly by the name upon which we agreed, then perhaps you shall refer to me by my true name?"

That Uruk smirk transformed into a wide, sly grin. Norgash said, "Well, now… now wouldn't that be truly proper, lad?"

The Elf smiled.

"You have been very truthful to me, Norgash, but I have not returned in kind. It is not in my nature to withhold truth, though I fear that is what I have already done. I pray that you can forgive me for—"

"Skip the Elvish frivolities and pageantry, lad, we haven't got all morning."

"I am Glorfindel, one of the lords of Rivendell."

Norgash's eyes widened. He tensed upon hearing that name and eyed the Elf with suspicion.

"Ja kiddin'…"

The Elf shook his head. "I was leading patrol out of Rivendell some weeks ago. Neighbouring Men had complained of strange creatures, orcs unlike any with which they had dealt. The complaints were drawing closer and closer to Rivendell, and I went to investigate. I failed to recognise these woods as I strayed from my company, but I believe great forces compelled me—and you, Norgash—into our present situation."

The Uruk narrowed his eyes. No lesser Elves went by the name Glorfindel—not that he knew. There was no possible way a band of Uruk-hai could have caught one of the most feared Elf-lords that ever walked the mortal lands. Bloody hell, he had even scared off the Witch-King by just laughing at the creepy thing!

It certainly would be something for any Orc to brag about—catching old sunshine hair himself. About the only ones who put more fear into the black hearts of Orcs were those damned twins: Elrohir and Elladan, Saruman called them. They actively hunted Orcs, while old sunshine hair made it his business to scare off the big bosses. He did not bother with Orcs; he did not need to, typically.

Norgash pointed at the tall Elf-warrior and said, "You aren't lying?"

Glorfindel's golden hair shimmered as he shook his head.

"You're the la… you're the _lord_," Norgash stumbled, "what scared off the old King of Creeps from Dol Guldur?"

"I am he."

The Uruk growled and tousled his hair. "What the hell are you doing here, then? Gettin' caught and half-shagged by a bunch of horny lads?"

Glorfindel smiled. "I thought that the Fighting Uruk-hai were fearless."

"Fearless, not fucking suicidal, you… Gar!" Norgash stood and stomped round the camp. "No wonder you gave me the creeps last night! I could barely sleep, thinkin' about you, glowin' and laughin' and staring at the stars and..." Then he marched up to him and growled, "But how the hell did you get yourself into this mess? A bloke as old as you and as scary as you are to Snaga-hai ought to have a hell of a lot more sense than this… Wargshit you're in."

Mauhúr perked up his ears at the conversation. He snarled and rolled his golden-green eyes, grumbling before he began to sniff out the trail again.

"Only the Powers in the West know, Norgash," replied Glorfindel. "To them and to He Who is Alone seek I my strength. They know why this has happened, and I have discovered for myself wherefore." Then he placed a hand upon Norgash's shoulder and said, "You and I are kindred spirits. You doubt what you once were, _who_ you once were, but I know that it is possible. I know."

Then his hand stroked his cheek. A joyous and youthful smile sat upon Glorfindel's fair face, and when a moment had passed, the Elf-lord resumed his duties.

Norgash's face felt unusually warm, and the cheek Glorfindel had touched was freakishly hot. Norgash's mind had become completely devoid of any thoughts other than the warmth on his face and the lingering of that touch.

Mauhúr strode by Norgash and raised his eyebrows. He rumbled and growled at the Uruk, "_Rran mûrrnár-ru sha kurrshush?_"

Norgash glowered at the demonic wolf. "_Glubo lat! Krakaurz bâlak_…"

Mauhúr shook his head, neck, and shoulders, his version of shrugging.

"_Rrûrp radhesh_," he replied.

Norgash threw the blankets onto Mauhúr's back, exerting quite a bit of anger as he did. Mauhúr groaned and shook his head. It was going to be a long, long way out of the woods, if that attitude kept up. Then he glanced at Sigilithil—or rather, the suddenly revealed Glorfindel. Mauhúr smiled. Another Elf would have tried to escape long ago. Another Elf would not have taken interest in Norgash the way that Glorfindel had. This entire time could have been filled with large, awkward silences and even more bouts of fighting, which would have, no doubt, resulted in death.

Maybe there truly was something to their meeting, thought Mauhúr. Norgash had been quite the fighter in his day. He would kill a Man, an Elf, or what-have-you in a heartbeat. But for the strangest reason, Norgash did not carry the same bloodlust that was inherent in all Orc-type races and mutts. He was not as impulsive or driven by hate. He was just… well, Norgash.

"What are you smiling about, you cheeky bastard?" growled Norgash.

Mauhúr grumbled in Wargish. He was thinking about what Norgash was going to do to himself once he lost his pretty Elven lover, he said; at which point, Norgash tugged at his good ear.

"Be still, Norgash," Glorfindel reprimanded, torch in hand. Then with his free hand, he rubbed Mauhúr's head. "Mauhúr is our nose, ears, and eyes out of these woods. He deserves far more respect than this."

"You're just happy because once we are out, you'll be rid of us forever," said Norgash.

Mauhúr snarled at Norgash.

"Oh, you siding with him, now?" growled the Uruk. "Oi! I'm getting jumped by an old Elf-lord and an alpha Warg. I'm getting too old for this crap," and he tossed his rucksack on Mauhúr's back. "You two ready?"

"I am," said Glorfindel, raising his torch. "I have stirred out the last of the fire. We may leave."

"Lovely," said Norgash. "All right, lad, let's get the Elf-lord back to his pretty green patches and starlit skies, shall we?

"Oh, but one more thing."

Glorfindel stood still as Norgash secured the Elf's quiver to his back. He only had a few arrows left from the hunt and the attack on his person. Still, he was very welcome to recover his quiver and subsequently his bow.

"Your scabbards and your little butter knives, too," said Norgash as he secured the belt round Glorfindel's waist. "Fine condition, I think, after what they've been through."

"Thank you, Norgash. I greatly appreciate your efforts."

Norgash lifted up a hand dismissively. "We won't have time to give you back your things, once we're out of these woods. Gotta leave you as soon as we're clear of 'em. Mauhúr's been catching whiffs of Men and Elves in the air, and we can't take any chances."

"You shall not come with me?" Glorfindel queried.

"You're serious?" said Norgash as they began to follow Mauhúr. "You really think I used to be an Elf? Gar! I thought when I was a shaman, I drank and breathed some heavy shit, but you—you don't even need holy weeds to be out of your head."

"I know that my idea sounds odd. Believe me, I would never allow an Orc to come within a hundred leagues of Rivendell or any other Elven settlement. But you are no normal Orc, Norgash. You are no normal person. You are like a star, flickering hard in the darkness, yet your light shall extinguish if no one stokes the source."

"You sayin' you wanna stoke my fire?"

Glorfindel smiled and walked over a fallen tree without looking. "I say that I wish to help you."

Norgash snorted. "Sounds more like you wanna get funny with me."

" 'Funny'?"

"You know, get frisky. Have a session of heavy petting."

"Do not joke, Uruk. I mean you well. In you sits great potential—"

"I don't think so," Norgash groused.

"What say you?"

Norgash sighed. He rumbled and said, "Saruman said the same thing about me. And me mum—my mother thought I was a strange one, meant for a strange fate."

"You do not wish to be set apart?"

"No!" he cried. "I mean, yes. Something… Look, can you just keep quiet for a while! Mauhúr needs to concentrate, and he doesn't need to hear us yammering."

Mauhúr glanced back at the Uruk and Elf. Shaking head his and rolling his eyes, the Warg rumbled.

It was indeed going to be a long, long walk…

* * *

The sun craned high above the land. The trees' shadows formed ellipses and nearly perfect circles, spreading further from each other, giving each other enough space to grow their branches. Wargs little loved of sunlight, and even the hearty Mauhúr tried to keep his snarls to a minimum. Norgash did not care about the sun one way or the other; but he saw better in daylight than dim-light. Glorfindel was obviously happy to be in friendly woods with tall, friendly trees that seemed mutually happy to feel his presence.

"Just up this hill, and you're home free," said Norgash, hushed.

The company ascended the slopes. As they climbed, less green and more dirt appeared beneath their feet. Fleet-footed Glorfindel strolled up as if he walked on a flat path. Mauhúr's size was his only hindrance; otherwise, his claws provided good tread.

Norgash was least steady. Uruk-hai were strong, muscular creatures, not naturally inclined to mounting hills, least of all sandy, slippery ones. Norgash grunted, growled, and cursed, when finally, a helpful hand reached for him.

"I'm doing well on my own, thank you," snarled the Uruk.

"Certainly," said Glorfindel, "but forgive me if I impose, but I would ask you for aid during this last stretch."

Norgash smirked and sneered. "The great lord Glorfindel needs more help from an Uruk? I'd be a fool not to take up such an offer. It's more to boast about later."

Each fellow threw an arm around the other's neck. With greater ease, they mounted the hill, and finally they reached the top.

Beneath the hill laid a vast valley of trees with their flowers in full bloom, tall grasses and meadow flowers, and a stream that cut through with crystalline water. Birds sang gaily, while insects hummed jubilant tunes. This land looked much more familiar to Glorfindel and felt so much purer, so much lighter.

Speechless with indescribable joy, Glorfindel began to descend down a gentle incline. Just as he reached the valley halfway, and turned and gazed up at Norgash as he began to climb upon Mauhúr's back.

"I cannot force you to come," said Glorfindel, "but it would be reprehensible for you to refuse a just reward, though I can think of nothing suitable, save one."

"And it isn't yours to give," replied Norgash, "even if I wanted it. And I don't.

"Orcs hate Elves, and Elves don't like Orcs. That's just the way it is. And even if I had walked as an Elf—and you're pretty damned convinced I did—I'd rather not go back. I was punished for a reason, and I can't take back what was said. I can try and make up for it—and I am. But even a powerful lord like you can't help me, can't put in a good enough word. It's my mess, and I've got a clean 'er up. You understand, don'tcha, _zanbaur_?"

Glorfindel walked up the hill to Norgash. He looked into those small, jade-green eyes and realised that he had done all that he could.

"_Cuio vae_, Norgash _Elenfëa_," said Glorfindel.

"_Cuoi vae_, Glorfindel," replied Norgash. "_Hebo e trast_ because trust me, I'm a one in ten thousand Uruk and a one in a million Orc-type bloke. We're not all so damned genial, not even to each—"

Before the Uruk could finish, Glorfindel surprised him with a sprightly leap. A brotherly kiss was planted on a swarthy cheek, and Glorfindel landed with the same grace that had propelled him.

Once again, he had rendered Norgash utterly speechless and devoid of thought.

"Fare well, Mauhúr," said Glorfindel as he scratched beneath the Warg's chin. "Keep Norgash well for as long as you wander this world."

Mauhúr rumbled and smiled. He did not need to bid fare well to the Elf, for his golden green eyes said that well enough.

Glorfindel turned and resumed his descent into the valley. His keen Elf ears heard an Uruk-like rumble, followed by a string of curses, Mauhúr growling back, and Norgash griping aloud for nearly all ears to hear.

The Elf-lord knew he would dearly miss his most unexpected companions. He knew that their parting needed to be.

* * *

**Glossary:** _kuru fiimurz_ (Bl. Sp.) young man; lit. 'young balls.'

_Rran mûrrnár-ru sha kurrshush?_ (Warg) What in the hell was that?

_Glubo lat! Krakaurd bâlak_ (Bl. Sp.) Piss off! Mangy mutt…

_Rrûrp radhesh _(Warg) Beat yourself.

_Cuio vae_ (Sind.) fare-well.

_Elenfëa_ (Sind.) Elf-in-spirit.

_Hebo e trast_ (Sind.) Keep out of trouble.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. However, original characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The road to Grey Havens was solemn and sorrowful as it was blessed and sweet. The time of Elves living on Middle-earth had finally passed. None longed to dwell there, for all that had been made by them was beginning to fade.

The Elf-lord Glorfindel joined his peers, among them Lord Elrond of Rivendell, as they heeded the beckoning from the western, unseen shores. Gandalf rode with them, as did the Ring-bearing hobbits Bilbo and Frodo, with their comrades, Samwise, Merry, and Pippin to bid them a sad farewell.

As the ship and its companion vessels slipped from the autumn shore toward the High Sea, Glorfindel turned back to look at the fading landscape. Never again would he see the strange Uruk, who had saved his life and earned his trust. Never would the Uruk make the journey to the distant shores learn the truth of his identity and receive the healing that could have been his.

"Rare is the day and sad," said Elrond as he joined Glorfindel, "when the joy from Lord Glorfindel's face vanishes. What robs you of your cheer, brother? Have you forgotten something of great value or _someone_?"

"I have failed, Elrond," sighed Glorfindel, "failed to find him, to bid fare well to the one who saved me. I did not reward him, though he asked for no payment."

"Perhaps this one, whose name you do not speak, found that saving you was a reward in itself."

"Oh, my dear Elrond," said Glorfindel, "if only I could tell you; but it matters no longer to us. His fate is sealed upon these passing shores."

Soon the ship and its companion vessels began to pass through the mouth to the Gulf of Lhûn. They passed closely to the Harlindon shore and carefully steered to avoid running aground. Frodo spotted a strange, dark figure on the on the cliffs on the Harlindon side of the mouth. He had been standing on deck, deeply breathing the fresh sea air to ease his mind. He called over Glorfindel, fearful that his old wound was causing him to hallucinate.

"I fear that I might perish before we reach the western shore," said Frodo.

Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. "Think it not, dear Frodo Baggins. You have surpassed many trials; this one is far less trying and promises a most fair result." Then he looked to the shore, and with his powerful Elven eyes, he gazed at the figure to which Frodo pointed.

Without warning, a howl pierced the air. All the Elves on all the ships turned to the Harlindon shore and looked up at the cliffs. They gasped and gaped, for there stood a Warg, staring back at their ships and howling in intervals. Upon the great wolf's back sat an even more unwelcome sight: a dark-skinned Orc, tall and muscular, also staring at the ships.

"_Padog pen nin_?" shouted the Orc.

Glorfindel smiled and shouted heartily back, "_Arníal toled nan ammen_?"

The Orc laughed. "Be off, you star-lover! Off to prettier lands than these! _Cuio vae, zanbaur!_" With that final farewell, the Orc and his Warg turned and fled.

"My word!" exclaimed Frodo. "If I hadn't heard it with my own ears—that Orc was speaking the tongue of Elves!"

"You are not alone in your surprise, Master Baggins," said Glorfindel. "The Elves are quite shaken now. They are more eager than ever to leave these lands after that little exchange."

"Well, it should count itself quite lucky," said one Elf. "We were all stumbling over our toes, trying to muster the last of our bows and arrows. But then it started talking to you, lord, talking to you! In Sindarin, no less! How unbelievably foul!"

"Brother, I owe my life to that Uruk, and if I could, I would sacrifice my spot on this ship that he might reach the Western shore."

The Elves and Frodo gawked at the golden-haired lord, whose eyes were ablaze with gravity. Elrond approached him and touched his shoulder that he no longer stood defensively.

"Is he the one, Glorfindel?" asked Elrond. "Is that strange creature the one who saved you? An old enemy turned to the most unlikely ally?"

"No mere ally was he, Elrond," replied Glorfindel. "He was a friend." Then he turned back to the Harlindon shore, seeing no sign of the Great Orc or his Warg.

"He was once an Elf, you know, in another life." He turned to Elrond and smiled faintly. "He doubts it as many others would, but I saw the signs, Elrond. I know. He lives now in darkness, but the light calls out to him. The light still calls out to him."

* * *

**Glossary: **_Padog pen nin_ (Sind.) Are you leaving without me?

_Arníal toled nan ammen?_ (Sind.) Do you wish to come with us?

**Disclaimer: **The author, Dannilicious, makes no claim over J.R.R. Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction story. However, original characters are the intellectual property of Dannilicious and may not be used without permission.


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